As I entered the airport car park the warm sub tropical scent rose off the tarmac with a whiff of nostalgia. Inhaling a breath of fresh air evoked a real sense of arrival...

As I entered the airport car park the warm sub tropical scent rose off the tarmac with a whiff of nostalgia. Inhaling a breath of fresh air evoked a real sense of arrival. I had not seen Brisbane for five years and therefore I had not seen Dad for as long. He stood waiting outside with an anxious look upon his face and then one of delight having spotted me amongst the other weary travelers. 

“Hi Mark!”

“Hi”

“You must be exhausted – how was the flight?” 

“Long”

“I bet. Let me help you with those bags and we’ll head for the car”

The drive that followed was like a trip through a time tunnel. In every passing second there were flashes of recognition, ushering memories of the past. The occasional flash of a headlight and the silent beats of the passing street lights would reveal the briefest glimpse of familiar building, a street name, a house. They served as teasers, willing me to remember them, and reveal how Brisbane had grown in my absence.

After unlocking a series of doors we entered Dad’s spacious house. I noted the décor had scarcely changed, the walls still glossed with two tones of a sludgy pink. I got the tour of the rest of the house, quiet and vacant, much the same as I recalled from previous visits. “Remember the veranda” Dad eagerly noted. “You can still see the Story Bridge in between those trees there”, he noted satisfyingly. Through the intricate silhouette of the trees the illuminated peaks of the bridge could still be made out. 

We returned inside to the kitchen, closing the sliding veranda doors behind us. “Do you like pasta?” Dad asked. “Sure” “Good, I haven’t really got anything else in I’m afraid”.We discussed what we’d been busy with over dinner with the kind of casual malaise you might expect from a pair of work acquaintances, vaguely interested in what the other had been up to. Dad’s curiosity extended to what my plans were whilst in Brisbane.

“I need to work for a year before they let me back into university for the post-grad. Once I complete that I can get fully qualified”. I knew he didn’t really know what landscape architecture was, but he didn’t want me to pursue a career in it anyway. He had other ideas. “You know the real estate industry is really booming at the moment, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any trouble getting work in that area of your landscape thing doesn’t work out”

“We’ll see” I subtly dismissed.

I instinctively rejected most of Dad’s advice. I didn’t plan it that way. I just wanted the opportunity to make my own mind up rather than be forced into a career I’m not even interested in. There was a lengthy silence before I intervened. “Do you still work for the council?” 

“Yes, I’m still in economic development. It’s really busy at the moment. I’ve got a meeting with some clients tomorrow actually. Then in the afternoon I’ve got a meeting with the architect whose designing the my house extension”. Extension for who I thought, before giving up on the broccoli. “Are you finished there?” Dad wondered.“Yep” I responded sheepishly. 

We returned to the kitchen to wash up. I offered a hand, grabbing a nearby tea towel. It wasn’t long before I learnt where everything went. The cupboards revealed a lack of food, yet an abundance of plates to serve from, neatly stacked and idle. 

I went to my new bedroom and began unpacking. My portfolio lay by my suitcase and I browsed some of my work wondering if Dad might care to have a look. By chance he entered the room, but only briefly to announce “I’m going to bed now, but I’ll turn on the air conditioning if you’re too warm”, I hesitated before closing the portfolio “Yeh okay. I’m off to bed too”. I’ve found a decent 6 hour sleep nullifies the effects of jet lag. 

“I’ll leave for work early but I’ll see you when I get back in Mark”“Okay. Night Dad”“Goodnight”I listened intently from my bedroom as Dad drew the series of sliding doors shut, cocooning the living room and our bedrooms. The air conditioning unit beeped into action and the atmosphere soon changed. I awoke to the creaking of the garage door, followed by the revving of Dads car as he head off to work. I drew the curtain briefly to a blinding light. I glanced away to protect my eyes, but I returned to a beautiful sight. Not grey skies. Not drizzle. Not kids with twenty layers to protect them from a cold, just blue skies and sunshine.My enthusiasm to get out and see the city hadn’t waned one bit. I sprung out of bed and out onto the veranda. The tree inhibiting the view of the bridge the previous night was, in fact, no nuisance at all. The crisp morning sunlight revealed the ferny foliage and scarlet-red blossom of the Poinciana, showy and numerous across the colourful surrounding suburb. Keen to get out and see Brisbane again and begin my search for work, I set out in search of the train station.  

I made my way from central station in the core of the Brisbane CBD, when I was met with some unexpected crowds. The street had been cut off by blockades indicating somebody important was on their way. Rather than hurry off I loitered for a few minutes with anticipation. With a heartfelt cheer from the crowd the recent Olympic winners from Queensland suddenly made their way by, smiling politely and shaking the occasional flailing hand from beyond the blockades. As the final parts of the parade rolled on I watched on as the barriers were removed and the crowds dispersed.     

In a bid to seek out work experience I decided to visit the Queensland University of Technology, where a department of Landscape Architecture was located. I was hopeful of finding any graduate vacancies in the region. Once inside there didn’t seem to be many people around, but I located a tutor’s office and gave a polite knock. On entering I met an animated middle aged woman of slender build, sifting through papers on her desk with some urgency. She came to an abrupt halt upon noticing me at the door. I explained my predicament. “So I was wondering where I might see any vacancies”. She sighed with apparent disinterest before grabbing the paper she was after. A few anxious seconds later she brushed past me and in so, simply said “It’s not that easy”. Thanks for nothing, I thought. It was a shame no other staff members were around at that time because ‘it’s not that easy’ was something I found hard not to dwell upon. 

As time passed without gaining any work experience I started feeling helpless, like there was something else that I should be doing to aid my faltering cause. I told myself, there are some things I cannot control, like the amount of jobs available. All I could do was is believe I had the talent and maintain my desire to succeed. There were always doubts in my mind though. Maybe trying to get experience back in Australia was a mistake. Should have stayed in England and fought for the opportunities there instead? 

Back at Dad’s house I lay idle on whatever day of the week it was, staring at the ceiling, distracted by another fruitless job interview. I thought about how Queensland’s winning Olympic contingent. What if it hadn’t been a job I was competing for? Say it was the final pursuit of some sporting accolade. It seems to me that Australia is a country where the competitive spirit and determination is mirrored by success. In my search for work experience was it determination I was lacking? I could simply concede to defeat and wander off into some other area of work, after all, if I couldn’t even break into the industry I’d studied for - what the hell was the point in any of it? I’d barely even made it into the profession, yet I already felt let down. I knew I wasn’t the only one in this situation. We are the graduates, the brilliant minds of tomorrow. We could be creating fantastic things in our respective industries, but instead, our talent is going to waste in dead end jobs. Our enthusiasm is waning, our aspirations forgotten, and our potential never recognized.

One of the greatest bits of advice I ever received was from my Grampa. ‘You should choose the career that you want to do, not one anyone else tells you to do’. On the back of his experience that advice came as little surprise. As a would-be engineer, he was disappointed not to get the opportunity to become one. His father saw that he became a doctor, and a fine doctor he became. It was only in his retired years, as he built the Eiffel tower out of Meccano in his dining room that I saw his boyhood dreams shining through. It is important to pursue what you genuinely want to do with your days and recognise you’re choices can be influenced by others. The secret is to accept that you won’t always know what you’re doing or where you’re going. This isn’t something to despair over. The point is you have the sort of freedom most will envy.